


Buildings and bridges (the rockabye remix)

by Zooey_Glass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Kamikaze Remix, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-25
Updated: 2009-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zooey_Glass/pseuds/Zooey_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The treehouse is a godsend.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Buildings and bridges (the rockabye remix)

**Author's Note:**

> Remix of [The other side of the line](http://gretazreta.livejournal.com/7238.html) by Gretazreta, written for [Kamikazeremix](http://community.livejournal.com/kamikazeremix/).

The treehouse is a godsend.

John's boys are good kids, but they're still _kids_, full of energy and liable to get into every which thing. It's a marvel John can keep them under control as well as he does; Dean with his itching desire to take apart any goddamned piece of machinery he sees, while Sam trails around after him asking questions until it's enough to drive a man to drink. It wouldn't be so bad if he and John were just working in the yard - Dean at least is plenty old enough to learn his way around the innards of a car; pretty handy at it, too - but if the case they're working was anything John dared involve the boys in, he probably wouldn't be here.

The first week they're happy enough exploring the yard, scoping out their territory. Dean sets to climbing every tree in the orchard, Sammy following doggedly behind him, red-faced and determined as he struggles to keep up. They tackle all the little fruit trees first, leaving the ash tree out on the west of the property till last. It's not the hardest tree to climb, but it's the biggest, been there longer than the house has. Dean shins up the trunk first and ties a rope to the lowest branch, but Sam ignores the help, kicking off his shoes so he can dig toes as well as fingers into the cracks in the bark. When he finally makes it he persuades Dean to carve both their initials into the bark, and the pair of them sit there all afternoon, grinning out over the valley.

Once they've cracked the ash tree, though, they're both back to poking around the yard, looking for mischief to get into. So when John leans back one evening and says, "Used to build treehouses when I was a kid," Bobby seizes on it as the inspiration it is.

"Built one or two myself. We had a great treehouse out on my granddaddy's old place, big enough me and both my brothers could fit in it." He takes a long pull on his beer, pretending like he can't see the way Dean and Sammy have both pricked up their ears. "He had a big old ash tree, like that one out back."

John nods wisely, the corner of his mouth twitching as he says, "Yeah, that's the right kind of tree, sure enough."

Sam lets out a little squeak of excitement, and Bobby has to take another drink before he can compose himself enough to speak. "'Course, it was a mighty lot of work. Can't think kids nowadays would have the sticking power."

"_We_ would, Uncle Bobby!" Sam bursts out. "We could build one, couldn't we, Dean?"

Dean shushes him, saying, "It's not our tree, Sam," but his face is just as shining and hopeful as his brother's.

Bobby catches John's eye. "I got no objections."

The boys wait in barely suppressed excitement while John makes a play of thinking it over, drawing it out until Sammy looks near ready to burst. Finally he relents. "If you really want to do this, you've gotta do it right, you hear? That means you too, Sammy. You mind what your brother tells you."

He fixes Dean with a stern look. "And you look after your brother. We don't need any broken necks."

The two of them _yessir_ and _nosir_, nodding fervently, and the second John dismisses them they burst out into the yard, already arguing about the best way to plan the project and whether or not it's dumb to give the treehouse windows. Bobby remembers that the first time he built a treehouse, he dragged half the lumber he could find up the tree before stopping to figure out how it would all fit together, but Dean and Sam have the whole thing sketched out on paper before they even start looking for materials. And if the yard yields some surprisingly useful scraps - well, it just goes to show that planning pays off.

In between keeping an eye on the boys and finding ways to keep them well-supplied with building materials, Bobby and John finish up the job they've been working on. The demon they've been after leaves them both bloody and exhausted before they manage to send it back to hell, but even so, it's only a couple of days before John's edgy and restless, hunting through newspapers and clipping out obituaries and disappearances.

When he starts hunting through the maps, looking for one of Ohio, Bobby observes mildly, "They've only just finished that treehouse."

"I know," John says regretfully, but he doesn't stop comparing the scribbled notes he's made against the unfolded map.

Bobby watches him thoughtfully, thinking about the pleased-proud look on Dean's face when they pronounced the treehouse safe. "You can pick them up after the job's done."

John does pause then, looks up slowly, like if he moves too quick Bobby'll take it back. "You're a good man, Bobby."

"Not particularly." Bobby fishes in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, a habit he still hasn't gotten around to quitting. "Just mind you pick them up before the school year starts."

John leaves the boys at the yard the next summer, too, but the one after that he calls and says he's keeping them with him, holing up in a cabin in the woods somewhere while he hunts down a possible Raksha. "The boys are old enough now," he says. "Dean can handle a gun like you wouldn't believe."

Bobby says nothing, letting the silence stretch out across the line.

"Well, I guess we'll see you soon enough," John says finally.

They don't come by that summer, though, and by the next they're on the other side of the country and Bobby's busy with his own affairs. He sees them off and on over the next few years, but always for one-off jobs, and they don't make it back to his place. Figures that John's heard the message in Bobby's silences and chosen to deal with it his own way.

* * *

He's less surprised than he should be when the letters start to arrive. The first two he just stashes in the bookcase and forgets about. When the third one arrives, though - thick and heavy with promises - he picks up the phone. He doesn't need the return address on that thick envelope - _Stanford University_ \- to tell him that John doesn't need to know about the letters. Instead he says, "Got a job I could use your help with," brushing aside John's surprise at the call.

It's a shock when Bobby makes the rendezvous to find John standing there with two young men. Not like he didn't know the boys were growing up, but there's knowing and then there's seeing Dean standing shoulder-to-shoulder with John, plotting out hunt strategies, while Sammy towers over them both. They're still the same two kids, though, bursting out into the yard full of excitement and adrenaline before they've been back at Bobby's more than a minute. They spend the night in the treehouse, sneaking back indoors in the middle of the night to raid the cupboards, and it's just like old times.

He corners Sam the next morning, waiting till he's holed up alone in the study, absorbed in a pile of books. Sam goes white, then red, when Bobby hands him the letters, looking every bit as young as he actually is.

"Have you told Dean?" Bobby asks. He doesn't have to ask whether Sam's said anything to John: the fact that the letters came to him has already told him that much.

Sam flushes more and shakes his head, quick and unhappy. "Dean wouldn't - " He breaks off, turning that one big envelope over in his hands. Bobby sees the moment he takes it in, the unhappy tension of his shoulders shifting to excitement. "I just wanted to know if I had a chance."

Bobby nods. "You're a smart boy, Sam."

Sam flushes in pleasure, his smile growing as he opens the envelope and reads the letter through twice.

"Guess you better tell Dean," Bobby says finally, and regrets it when Sam's smile snaps off like a light. Bobby claps him reassuringly on the shoulder. "He'll be real proud of you, Sam."

Dean _is_ proud, and John is too, even if the man's too much of a damn fool to show it. But Bobby doesn't miss the hurt expression on Dean's face in the split-second before he grins and high-fives Sam, nor the way he stands shocked and silent when Sammy and John start to scream and rage at one another. And later, when it's all over and the boys have retreated to the treehouse, Sam comes down from there alone.

Bobby waits up at the kitchen table, his beer untouched by his elbow. The first blue-grey shadows of dawn are creeping across the sky when the screen door finally creaks open. Dean doesn't speak when he sees him, just sits down on one of the chairs, head bowed like he's waiting for punishment.

"Sam'll do real good at school."

"Yeah." Dean doesn't look up, fingers spread wide on the pitted wood of the table like he needs it to keep him steady.

"Hell, another year of this and he and John probably woulda killed each other." Bobby tries to keep his voice light, to lessen the sting of what he's got to say. "He needs more, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean says again, his voice thick and choked. He shoves back his chair suddenly, and Bobby catches a glimpse of his face as he pushes past, white and stricken. "I know that."

At the beginning of fall, a storm gets up and loosens some of the slats across the roof of the treehouse. Bobby's hand is halfway to his toolbox before he realizes he can't go near it. Whatever happened up there is private, between Dean and Sam, and he feels like he should leave it be.

Besides, he's not sure it's something Dean wants to remember anymore.

* * *

It's cold on the drive back from the hospital, both the boys silent and shivering in the back. It feels like an unhappy mirror image of those summers when they were kids: Bobby guesses John's handed over responsibility for good this time.

Sam never takes his eyes off Dean for a second, not on the drive home nor in the first days afterwards. Dean barely seems to notice, drifting silent from room to room, the acrid smell of the hospital still clinging to him. Bobby finds him one night sitting at the kitchen table, hands spread wide on the wood, and realizes with a jolt that he recognizes the expression on his face. Guilt and loss, the same as when Sam told them he was going to school. If that makes Bobby wonder maybe more than it should - well. He guesses it's not any of his business.

The state of the car after the accident makes Bobby feel sick to see it, the same torn and crumpled look he sees in both boys' faces. But when Dean breaks his near-complete silence to ask to borrow tools, and then to call half Bobby's contacts for parts and advice, he's glad he went along with Sam's insistence on saving it. It's slow, but Dean's starting to come back to himself.

Sam, though, he's just too much like John, never did know when to back off a little. Bobby doesn't expect the flare-up Sam manages to provoke to be so brutal, though; when he looks down at the yard and sees Dean whaling on the car, desperate and vicious, he's hard-pressed not to go out to the boy himself. Wouldn't do any good, though, so he takes a walk instead, heads down to the orchard.

Sam's standing with his back pressed against one of the apple trees - the first tree Sam climbed, Bobby remembers. He's nearly as tall as it is, now. Kids grow faster than trees.

"He won't let me help him," he says bleakly, eyes focused on the horizon.

"Give him time." It's a cliche, but hell, Bobby never claimed to be a guru. He makes his way up to Sam and stands there for a while, quiet and companionable. Gradually Sam relaxes a little, fists uncurling, and Bobby turns to get back to the house.

"Bobby." Sam's voice is quiet and uncertain. "You think I could borrow some tools?"

Bobby turns back, follows Sam's gaze to where a strip of tar paper is flapping loose against the roof of the treehouse. "Yeah," he says, slowly. "Yeah. I think that would be good."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rockabye (spin me round again remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5015) by [Zooey_Glass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zooey_Glass/pseuds/Zooey_Glass)




End file.
